A Chance to Breathe
by Hatheny Lurey Dralaw
Summary: After the war, there is a great silence. Trapped within this silence, finally able to breathe freely and yet feeling unable, sometimes people don't quite know what to do with themselves. After the war, Female!Harry is still trying to find her feet.


_After the war, there is a great silence. Trapped within this silence, finally able to breathe freely and yet feeling unable, sometimes people don't quite know what to do with themselves._

The air was quite cold, but not enough to keep an addict away from their cigarettes. Not that Iris would ever admit to an addiction, but she figured if she was going to have one habit then it might as well be one that would guarantee her a bit of alone time now and then. While her breath and cigarette smoke mingled in the air, she tapped her coffee saucer idly with one finger, her eyes drifting through the pages of the newspaper on the tabletop. Kindly left behind by a previous customer, the stiff black headlines were straightforwardly dire; banking crisis this, terrorist attack that, a smattering of international woe thrown in for good measure. A boobylicious blonde winking moodily over the typecast in the upper right hand corner slightly marred the seriousness of the text however; Iris almost smiled at the girl in print, but felt less than inclined to do as the blonde saucily suggested and turn to page fifteen. Whatever was there quite obviously wasn't meant for her.

Things were quiet, despite the after-war efforts taking place on the other side of London. Iris was taking a break from the hustle and bustle – and the mixed reception her presence always seemed to cause nowadays – by camping out at lunchtime to drink coffee and whittle time away in a muggle café that overlooked one of the nicer spots on the Thames. Her goal today? See a swan. That's all she asked for out of her day. She felt the need to unwind, and if that unwinding process took weeks or months or years, who would care? It was quiet and peaceful and nothing was happening. No-one expected anything of her. The Daily Prophet had stopped ranting about her and no-one had the strength to gossip. Pain and suffering and tears and healing were taking place inside of everyone, over and over until they were made new again – whether they were stronger or weaker, they were not the same as they were even a few months ago. Things were changing, and the balance of the change was delicate and unstable, unspoken by everyone. Sooner or later time would move again, but for the moment everything was still as people crept inside themselves and tried to understand their pain and loss.

Iris, naturally, was no different. At times it hurt more to see the living than it was to think of the dead. Appearing now and then seemed to cause as much disturbance as it did pleasure. She felt like shutting down. She felt like shutting off. Frankly, part of her wanted to forget the whole wizarding world, as though that would help her forget all of the horror and loss she had suffered within it.

It wouldn't be hard, would it? She could just disappear. She could forget about the wizarding world, it wouldn't be hard. She could take a muggle education course; get an apartment and a normal job. She could boil her water in an electric kettle and watch television on Saturdays. She could wear jeans and high heels. It'd be easy. Really easy.

Her head was sinking to the table and it hid itself inside her arms. To the outside it would look as though an overtired college student was taking a quick nap. Inside the crook of her arms, she was fighting tears as waves of helplessness and confusion tried to overwhelm her.

What was she thinking? She couldn't go anywhere, she couldn't do anything. There was nowhere she could go where her past would not follow. The wizarding world was filled with people who knew her face, who knew her name, who probably knew her better than she did because she felt headless and useless. It's not exactly as though there was a veteran society for Dark Lord Vanquishers!

Oh, who was she kidding. She needed to get a grip. Everything would be fine. All this hopelessness would sort itself out, she was just being silly. If she needed to get trained then she would. She had Hermione to help her study, and a bank vault full of money. There were always options. There were always options. There was always a way out. She needed to stop being so silly. Everything was all right.

She took a few deeps breaths, a tiny corner of her mind pleased that she had kept in the tears. Her eyes were moist, but that was easily gotten rid of by a quick rub of her fingers –

Her heart leapt in her chest as a hand laid itself on her shoulder and she ripped her fingers from her eyes and grabbed it. In between a gasp and an exclamation of surprise, she twisted the offending wrist and pulled the arm forward, toppling the man and causing him to hit his head on the table. Since the table was little more than a cheap metal stool, it ended up overturning and dousing the man with coffee, milk and small packets of sugar. She stood and twisted the arm back.

"Who?" she demanded.

"Ow," was the reply, and, a little embarrassed, Iris let go of the arm. The man shook it and rubbed the wrist, turning so he was seated on the ground. He looked up at her, a little bemused, and her eyebrows rose to extremes.

"Now I know, why you are famous as Seeker in Gryffindor," said the man; though he was still rubbing his wrist and was damp with coffee, he smiled hesitantly. "Good reflexes, good. Would haff made good beater too."

"What the hell?" Iris managed. "Viktor Krum?"

He shook himself off and climbed to his feet, picking at the damp patches of his jumper. "Yes. You remember?"

"If I didn't remember you from the Tournament, then I certainly would have known you otherwise," replied Iris dryly. "What are you doing here?"

Uncertainty crossed his face for a moment and his lips moved faintly. Finally he shrugged helplessly, waving his hands dismissively.

"I haff not spoken English in much time," he said. "I do not know enough words to tell you."

"Is it Quidditch?"

He grinned broadly. "Quidditch is one word that everyvun knows," he said. "But no." He hesitated again. "Government?" he tried.

"Your government?" said Iris. "Are you here as a liaison?"

His face froze in an expression of mild confusion; it was a face that pleaded for short, clearly pronounced words.

"A, a link? A connection?" she tried. "Between governments?"

Krum shrugged. Iris couldn't help but laugh.

"Well if you're here, you'll need to improve you English!"

He grinned as well, a little bashful. "My English is not so bad. I am only lacking some words for certain things." He stooped and righted the table, replacing the coffee cup, milk, and most of the sugar packets. He also placed a hand on a chair and glanced at Iris for confirmation. She nodded and they both sat; she with her arms and legs crossed, he with his elbows on the table.

"I can make a good bet though," he said slyly. "That my English is better than your Bulgarian."

Iris felt a short bark of a laugh escape her before she could help herself. "No bet," she answered, smiling. Then the oddness of the situation struck. "Wait! What the hell are you doing in Mugg – uhm, this part of London?"

His fingers tapped on the table. "I vanted to see it," he said honestly. "The other side is so damaged, and I vas curious…" He shrugged.

"You'll get lost," Iris informed him. He rolled his eyes.

"Pff, I am a graduate of Durmstrang," he said by way of explanation. "There are so many reasons, why I would not get lost."

"Number one, wand." Iris grinned, uncrossing her legs. She leaned forward reaching for a sugar packet before remembering that her coffee was currently all over Krum. She glanced at him hesitantly, the sugar packet frozen in her hands, as he regarded her impassively. After a moment or two he nodded and held out a hand.

"Yes, please," he said.

"What?"

"I do not like my coffee vithout sugar," he explained. "And you haff been kind enough to already present me with coffee and milk."

Iris coloured slightly but began to laugh, flinging the sugar packet on the surface of the table and sitting back in her chair. He grinned, a little slowly at first, but it grew and grew until several teeth were showing.

"You looked like death," he said suddenly. Iris' laughter was cut off abruptly and she stared at him. The world began turning around her head as she looked at the man sitting across from her.

"There haff been newspapers," he began. "Reports. Many people see you walk the streets with hollow eyes –"

"Krum –" she began warningly.

"I vanted to see," he continued. "I just vanted to see if you vere the same girl I remember, the same girl from the Tournament; the same girl from the wedding."

Iris couldn't speak for a few moments. When her voice returned, she replied honestly, if very quietly. "I'm not."

He nodded slowly, his eyes looking past her. "I think you haff changed as vell," he said. "You haff grown, matured – but so has the darkness. I know."

Irish shivered. She crossed her arms and legs again, drawing her body in on itself. "Why – where are you going with this? Why are you saying it?"

"Because I can see you, Iris," he replied. "I can see a great darkness in your soul that vill linger until you are crippled by it. In Durmstrang, many students suffer this. There are more dark things there than in Hogwarts. Many children belong to families that follow Dark Paths, and return to school filled with nightmares they cannot rid themselves of. I know little of vat you haff suffered. I doubt anyvun knows except you."

Iris covered her eyes with one hand. "Please," she said. "Stop talking."

He obliged, staying silent for a few minutes while she fought back tears.

"I can't escape!" she finally blurted out. "It's always there!"

He nodded.

"Everyone's dead," she continued, her hand falling from her eyes. The crying had begun, and now it wouldn't stop.

"Not everyvun," he contradicted. "There are still people here."

"Lots of people died!" she insisted. "So many people that could have been alive right now!"

Krum shrugged. "It vas a var," he said simply. "People die."

"But why did I have to watch them die?" Iris said in a strained voice. "Why did they have to be people I loved?"

"Because you haff endless love," said Krum. "You saved the French girl's sister, I remember that."

Iris shook – first her head, then her whole body.

"You suffer more because your love is limitless," he explained gently, leaning forward. "Let yourself heal, that is the process. Feel the pain, then let it go, piece by piece."

"How?" asked Iris. Her words were forced through a choking throat. "How?"

"By continuing," he answered. "You must continue, alvays, although it is the hardest of things to do."

"But how do you know?" she asked again. He was silent, leaning back slightly. Then with a sigh he answered.

"Because var is not the only thing that can rip things from you," he said. "Although the var reached Bulgaria also, and not all of us supported the Dark Path…" He leaned away from her, memories clouding his eyes. They were silent then; neither knew for how long.

"I'm sorry," Iris finally said, in a quiet voice. It shook Krum from his reverie, and he shrugged.

"No," he said. "No reason to apologise."

They were silent again. The daylight had faded a little, though the temperature remained mostly unchanged, and there were human sounds in the background; voices shouting orders, bicycles, chatter, buses and cars revving through traffic, skateboarders and teenagers and prams and mothers…life pulsed everywhere, constant, unyielding, eternal. One little wrong movement and a piece of life would be torn apart and ended, but a single pulse would produce a dozen more pieces, just as bright, just as fragile, so full of potential and beauty it hurt to think about. It was never-ending, and the pain of enduring it and continuing forward was a natural part; it was a hurdle to be overcome, because beyond that pain was something so beautiful, so brilliantly beautiful, words could not describe it…

Krum was standing; he was leaning over her and placing a piece of paper in front of her. The movement should have startled her but it didn't; she was in a place right then where everything was fluid and peaceful and calm. It was the strangest feeling in the world, and she tried to hold onto it, because while it was strange, it was beautiful as well, in a completely indescribable way…

The piece of paper had a time, date and place on it. Krum's fingers lingered over it as she examined it distantly and then looked at him. He met her eyes for a moment before speaking.

"I hope –" Was all he said before courage seemed to fail him. He ducked his head, reddening – men didn't blush, though Iris idly – and left, his pace quick.

Her eyes watched the paper instead of his departure, taking in the short message, the black ink, the schoolboy scrawl that showed signs of careful attempts of bettering the legibility. She smiled faintly.

"D'you know," she said to the air. "I rather think I hope as well."

**[It is never truly] **

**the End **

**[so long as you can smile through your tears]**


End file.
